


Lead Us Not Into Temptation

by vintagelilacs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bars and Pubs, First Time, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Jealous Aziraphale, M/M, Pining, Plant Voyeurism, Post-Armageddon, Sexual Frustration, Smut, Virgin Crowley (Good Omens), mention of date-rape drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-11 16:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagelilacs/pseuds/vintagelilacs
Summary: “Do you love him?” Aziraphale asked softly.“Do I lo—of course not. What kind of bloody question is that? I met the bloke not ten minutes ago. He was just there. And interested.”“How very opportunistic of you.” There was no explanation for why Aziraphale was acting as if he’d been personally slighted, or looking at Crowley as if he'd just defaced a book in front of him.





	Lead Us Not Into Temptation

It all started because Crowley was frustrated. And, though he was loath to admit it, _lonely_. For hundreds—if not thousands—of years, he’d mollified himself with the fact that he and Aziraphale could never be anything more because they were on opposite sides. Aziraphale, for all that he was willing to bend the rules, was concerned with propriety and good work conduct, and sadly, the departments of Heaven did not commend shagging a member of the opposition.

A lot had changed in a short amount of time. Both Crowley and Aziraphale had essentially been given the sack by their respective head offices. They were no longer enemies, and Aziraphale had even admitted that he considered Crowley to be his friend. 

_ “I’d like to think we’re a bit more than friends,”_ Crowley had hazarded. 

Aziraphale had sighed good-naturedly. _ “Yes, fine. You, Anthony J. Crowley, are my very best friend. Happy?”_

The problem was, he wasn’t. He didn’t want to be Aziraphale’s best friend. Well, alright, that wasn’t exactly accurate. The coveted position of Aziraphale’s best friend was one he treasured, but he didn’t want to be _just_ Aziraphale’s best friend. He wanted more. 

Aziraphale was a piece of tempting fruit. A well-mannered, tartan-wearing, book-loving fruit. But unlike Adam and Eve, Crowley knew the consequences of taking what he wanted. The moment he confessed his feelings, their millennia long friendship would be irrevocably damaged. He was certain Aziraphale would be very polite about it, of course. 

His face would screw up in a look of abject pity and he would modulate his voice to sound gentle and soothing. _ “Really, my dear. I’m not sure what gave you the impression I could desire you in such a manner, but I’m afraid it’s not possible. I am terribly sorry, of course._

Crowley wasn’t at all being a pessimist about the situation. Since foiling Armageddon, he’d tried dropping innuendo-laden hints and had performed various romantic gestures. He’d helped organize and catalogue Aziraphale’s bookshop, had bought him a fancy hot cocoa machine, and taken him out for sushi and dinner at the Ritz, and each overture had been met with Aziraphale’s usual fond-but-trying-not-to-show-it look. There was no conceivable way someone as clever as Aziraphale hadn’t realized what he was trying to do. Aziraphale owned myriad romance novels; he knew how romancing worked. The only conclusion that could be drawn was that Aziraphale was cognizant of Crowley’s intentions, but wasn’t interested. 

Crowley definitely wasn’t going to hang around where he wasn’t wanted. He turned to other pursuits to occupy his time, and to nurse his aching heart. Namely alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. 

Officially, in Crowley’s mind, he was stationed at the seedy London bar to stir up temptation. Unofficially, he was monitoring the patrons’ drinks to ensure none of them were spiked with date-rape drugs. He actively encouraged sex, especially pre-marital sex, but unlike his former coworkers, the thought of it being nonconsensual turned his stomach. 

He was on his eighth drink rum—which wasn’t that significant given he’d had six thousand years to build up an alcohol tolerance—when he began to notice a heady, cloying undertone to the air. Similar to how angels could sense when love had manifested, Crowley was able to sense lust and sexual desire, particularly when it was directed at him. 

He wouldn’t describe himself as lascivious, but his current pair of trousers were on the tighter side, and his hair was artfully dishevelled, as if to suggest there had been hands running through it and fisting strands of it. In the end, it wasn’t a matter of ‘why’, but rather, ‘why not.’ 

Here he was, doing his job like a responsible demon, when a human decided to feature him in his salacious fantasies. 

Crowley figured he may as well practice what he preached for a change. He’d been on this earth for too long, and he’d spent the preponderance of his existence yearning for something he could never have. 

Sex, according to the humans, provided a great distraction, and he could use one. 

Crowley leaned back against the bar counter, exposing the length of his neck and cocking his hip. He met the lusting mortal’s eyes with a come-hither look. At least, he hoped that’s what it looked like. It was a little difficult to convey when his eyes were perpetually hidden behind dark shades. 

It must have worked, because the human wasted no time approaching Crowley and introducing himself. He had a very average human sounding name. Crowley didn’t bother committing it to memory. Humans, except for the few rare cases like Freddie Mercury, were easily forgettable. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Crowley greeted in a low register of voice. 

“And what do they call you?” the human asked. 

_A foul fiend, mostly._ “Name’s Crowley.” 

“Crowley.” The name sounded all wrong on the human’s tongue. “No first name?” 

He hesitated.

“I like to know what name I’m going to be screaming later,” the human added. 

Crowley’s face felt hot. He swore humans were getting bolder every century. “It’s Anthony.” 

“Anthony Crowley, huh?” his voice was practically a pur. Crowley could feel the human’s lust as if it were his own, but beyond that, he felt no greater longing. The human was a means to an end, and hopefully a satisfactory end, at that. 

“Would you like to dance?” The human tilted his head to the sticky, crowded dance floor where sweaty couples were gyrating off-beat to the raucous music. 

Demons and humans had vastly different ideas of what constituted as dancing, but Crowley had watched them enough to be able to mimic their aborted movements and frequent hip-swivels. He took the human’s hand in answer, and allowed himself to be led onto the dance-floor. 

The human’s hand settled on Crowley’s lean hips, curling and digging in possessively. The lust he telegraphed was thick and heady, and it blanketed Crowley’s messy conflict of emotions. 

The dancing was foreplay, a pretense of spending a little time together before delving straight into a sexual encounter. He’d seen it happen this way in many films. 

Crowley was more than happy to welcome the feelings of lust and desire, to let them act as a numbing drug and cloud his higher judgements. He ignored his reservations, quashed the small inner protest that this wasn’t what he wanted. More accurately, it wasn’t _who_ he wanted. 

They danced back-to-chest, with palpable evidence of the human’s arousal pressing into his backside. Crowley let his eyes drift shut. When he opened them again, there was a familiar face staring back at him. Even in the dim lighting, he had no trouble identifying that cherubic face and endearingly pudgy frame. He wasn’t used to that particular expression, however. Aziraphale was staring at him as if he’d just defaced a book in front of him, or even burned one. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley murmured. The floor was sticky from spilled beer, and his snakeskin shoes felt practically cemented to the hardwood. He wrenched them from the dancefloor, breaking away from the warm body pressed against him, and ignoring the human’s sputtering protests. All he could focus on was how Aziraphale’s face began to crumple like wet tissue paper. 

“What is it? Angel, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing whatsoever is wrong,” Aziraphale declared, but not very convincingly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He wended his way through the tight-knit crowd of people and into the cool night air. 

“Something clearly is!” Crowley called after him. He reached for Aziraphale’s shoulder and spun him around. “If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be looking at me like that.” 

“I’m not looking at you.” Aziraphale’s gaze trained resolutely on the ground. 

“That human in there,” Crowley began haltingly. “I didn’t seduce him. Not with my abilities. I would never control a human like that, or infringe on their free will.” Except maybe when the humans were being too slow to respond and he needed to expedite an interrogation. 

“Do you love him?” Aziraphale asked softly. 

Crowley was dumbfounded. Of all the things he’d expected Aziraphale to say, that certainly wasn’t one of them. “Do I lo—of course not. What kind of bloody question is that?” Surely Aziraphale would have been able to sense the emotion of love on Crowley if it had been there, never mind the fact that demons weren’t supposed to love at all. “I met the bloke not ten minutes ago. He was just there. And interested.” 

“How very opportunistic of you.” There was no explanation for why Aziraphale was acting as if he’d been personally slighted. 

Crowley lifted his shoulder in a casual shrug. “I am a tempter by trade.”

“Would anyone ‘interested’ have sufficed, or are you more particular about your partners?” 

Crowley’s laugh got stuck in his throat. “You make it sound like there have been many.” 

“Have there been?” Aziraphale went to great pains to appear disinterested, but the fact that he was asking at all implied otherwise. 

Crowley aimed for nonchalant. “What, like I’d hang around for over six thousand years without indulging every now and then? I am a demon, you realize.” A demon who was hopelessly besotted and had secretly fancied the idea of having his first time with someone he cared about. 

“Obviously,” Aziraphale sniffed. “I’ve indulged in carnal pleasures myself, you know.”

His words made Crowley’s mouth go drier than the earth during a God-sanctioned drought. “With who?” He imagined Aziraphale tangled under the sheets with faceless bodies. The thought of Aziraphale laid out bare and wanton made an ember of arousal burn low in his gut, almost strong enough to overpower his sudden surge of jealousy. 

“Myself, mostly. Masturbation,” he clarified. 

“Yeah, thanks, I got that.”

“And there have been a few others.”

“Was it Wilde?” Aziraphale had raved about the man’s lavish prose and rapier wit for decades after his death. 

“Oscar and I may have had a brief fling,” he said evasively. 

“Well,” Crowley said casually. “Who would’ve thought an Angel of the Lord would have more sexual experience than a demon?” 

“I don’t understand. How many trysts have you had?” 

A big fat whopping zero. “How many do you think I’ve had?” he deflected. 

“Well, you’re a demon. You probably have vast sexual experience behind you.” 

“What makes you figure that?” 

Aziraphale faltered, wrong-footed. “I mean, for starters, look at you. You’re attractive, and your personality is... compelling. You told me yourself that you have plenty of people to fraternize with. And you’re also a tempter. You’ve probably seduced many holy men.”

“And if I haven’t? Seduced anyone?”

“I… don’t see why you wouldn’t have.”

Crowley’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not innocent. I’ve done plenty of voyeuring, and enticed others to do all manner of dastardly deeds, but, ah, sex with mortals isn’t really my prerogative.”

“It isn’t?” Aziraphale sounded a tad breathless, and more than a little dazed. He regained complete control of his mental faculties a moment later. “What about that human you were just with? You were touching him. With intent!”

“We were dancing, Aziraphale.”

“You were going to do more than that.” Aziraphale jutted his chin, as if daring Crowley to lie. 

“Maybe,” Crowley allowed. “First time for everything, right?” 

“You’ve really never slept with a human before?”

“I’ve never slept with any being in existence before! I was sexless for a long time too, until… well, until curiosity got the better of me. I’ve tried out a couple different configurations since.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks pinked prettily. “I first became curious about sex and reproductive organs after reading a rather risqué novel.”

“Pornography, you mean.”

“It wasn’t gratuitous sex! There were feelings involved. Love and longing.”

Crowley knew those particular feelings all too well.

“Anyway, why didn’t you, er, experiment after trying out different ‘configurations’, as you put it.” 

“In my experience, the humans who enjoyed themselves the most were the ones already in love.” He wished he was just a little more drunk for this discussion. “I realized I want that too. 

“You want to fall in love before you have sex?” Aziraphale clarified. There was a glassy, unfocused quality to his gaze, as if he were the one between the two of them who had been drinking all evening. 

“Already got the first part down.” 

“What? With who?” 

Crowley removed his sunglasses, revealing his yellow, serpentine eyes. “Do you really have to ask?” 

The confused expression persisted. Satan help him, Crowley just had to go and fall for the most oblivious angel in existence. After all this time, and all they had been through together, how could Aziraphale not know? He’d proposed they elope to Alpha Centauri together and Aziraphale still hadn’t clued in. Unless Aziraphale had suspected, but had hoped he’d been wrong. He was clever. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Aziraphale had discovered Crowley’s feelings and had ignored them in the hopes they would go away. He was an angel, after all: a being of love and purity. Surely he felt he was above the company of a lowly demon. 

Crowley cleared his throat, desperate to change the subject. He felt like a coward, and hated himself for it. “What were you doing in that bar, anyway?” he wondered. “Grimy, squalid place like that, ‘s not really your scene.” 

Aziraphale mumbled something unintelligible. 

“Didn’t quite catch that.” 

He huffed. “I said, I was looking for you.” 

“For me?” Aziraphale had an uncanny ability for leaving Crowley speechless. Usually it went the other way around. Aziraphale did his own thing and Crowley sought him out, either to pester him or to entreat him to a spot of lunch. 

Aziraphale shifted, adjusting his tartan collar. “You haven’t been around as much lately. I… was worried.”

By ‘worried’, he almost certainly meant ‘I missed you.’ 

“And then I saw you with that human and I… I just couldn’t.” 

“Couldn’t what?” 

Aziraphale shook his head stubbornly. 

“Couldn’t bear the sight?” he guessed. “Do I disgust you that much?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley.” 

“You’re the ridiculous one. Not telling me what’s the matter.” 

“I was jealous, alright?” 

“You _what_?” Angels weren’t supposed to get jealous. It was one of the seven deadly sins for a reason. 

“You heard me. I didn’t want to see you in that sort of position with a human, because… because I wanted it to be me!” 

“If… you want that human that badly, you can have him,” Crowley said slowly. “Like I said, he meant nothing to me.” 

“Not the human!” Aziraphale snapped. “I want _you_.” 

For a dangerous moment, Crowley thought his heart was going to give out and he’d have to face discorporation. “Me,” he said faintly. 

“Yes, of course you. Don’t pretend you didn’t know. Demons can sense lust.”

“What about you?” Crowley demanded, matching his heated tone. “Angels can sense love! You clearly knew how I felt, so why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“What am I feeling for you right now?” 

“I… I don’t know. What you always feel, I’d assume.” 

“Yes, and what I always feel is love.” 

“You love me?” Aziraphale said in that soft, wondering tone, the same one he’d used when Crowley had suggested they leave earth behind and go off together. “I think I need to sit down.” 

Without further warning, Aziraphale’s legs gave way beneath him. He plopped down hard on the dusty sidewalk. 

“Angel, your suit.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“Get up. It’ll get filthy, and you’ll need to actually launder it this time. No more frivolous miracles, remember?” 

Aziraphale didn’t move. “You love me.” 

_Oh God, I broke him. Satan!_ he amended. _Oh Satan, I broke him._

“You really love me.” 

“I’d love you more if you weren’t lying in a heap on the sidewalk. Seriously, people are giving us weird looks.” 

Aziraphale allowed Crowley to help him to his feet. 

Crowley coughed lightly. “It doesn’t bother you, I hope.” 

“Hmm? Oh, oh no, of course not. Why would it? The feeling is quite mutual.” 

An effervescent bubbliness rushed through Crowley, as if champagne was running through his veins instead of blood. Aziraphale had just admitted to loving him back, albeit in an unconventional fashion. The look he was giving Crowley was rather odd as well. “Why are you smiling like that? It’s unnerving.” 

“Honestly?” Aziraphale licked his lips. “The realization that you’ve never had anyone before, that you’ve never taken anyone inside of you—”

His cheeks burned. “Oh, shut it. I’m not an innocent virgin.” The entire concept of virginity was idiotic, in his opinion. “I’ve instigated orgies, I’ve tempted people, I’ve even watched them get it on.”

“But you’re untouched.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re smiling like a sushi restaurant opened up directly outside your shop.” 

“It, um, pleases me, I suppose you could say.”

“Pleases you?” Crowley echoed sceptically. 

“Arouses,” Aziraphale corrected with an impatient huff. 

Crowley’s brain short-circuited. “You. You’re aroused because of me?” 

“I want you, Crowley. In every manner it’s possible to want another being. I want to bed you and make love to you. I want to be the first and the only to have you.” 

His cheeks flamed hotter than the depths of Hell. “Just say ‘fuck,’” he pleaded. 

“Well, if you want to be crass about it, then yes, I want to fuck you.” 

A passing couple stared at them before quickly averting their gazes. 

‘Fuck,’ sounded so satisfying when it came from Aziraphale’s mouth. “If you want to, then what exactly are you waiting for?” 

Aziraphale didn’t need much further encouragement. He fumbled for Crowley’s hand and entangled their fingers. Crowley followed Aziraphale’s lead, feeling like his chest was about to burst open as they stumbled down the street. They ended up heading to Aziraphale’s shop, which was just as well. Crowley didn’t fancy the idea of having to pause in the middle of their coupling to harangue his plants for eavesdropping. And he knew without a doubt that the nosey little buggers would. No matter how much fear he instilled in them, they were still to inquisitive for their own good. 

Once they reached the doorstep, Aziraphale extricated his hand and began patting down his pockets. “Now, where did I put that key?” 

“Oh, for Satan’s sake.” Crowley waved his hand, magicking the door open. 

“Eager,” Aziraphale teased. 

“You have no idea.” Considering he’d been waiting for this for the past six thousand years, he thought he’d exercised enough patience. 

Aziraphale stopped uncertainly in the entryway. Crowley wasn’t entirely sure what the protocol was. Perhaps Aziraphale intended offer him a drink first, or discuss their preferences in great length beforehand, but Crowley couldn’t stand any further delay. He framed Aziraphale’s face in his hands, and practically launched at Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale huffed against him, half surprise and half something else that sent Crowley’s stomach doing complex somersaults. While Crowley had never had intercourse before, he had tried kissing. His first kiss had been sloppy and messy, with too much tongue in the way, and even drool, though that had come from his partner, and not him. Kissing Aziraphale was infinitely better, even if their movements were artless and clumsy. The press of their lips was firm and just shy of painful, and it tasted of desperation. He tilted his head to adjust the angle, and could feel the tips of Aziraphale’s eyelashes flutter against his skin. 

Crowley couldn’t resist flicking his long tongue against the seam of Aziraphale’s lips. They immediately opened, and he slipped his tongue inside to stroke along the roof of his mouth. His angel made a contented noise, before pulling back.

“Not here. Upstairs—we—bed.” 

Oh, no. He wasn’t wasting another second. Crowley put his impressive willpower and demonic abilities to work. The bed materialized in front of them, wedged between two bookshelves. He could have conjured any bed, but he specifically wanted Aziraphale’s bed, for the blankets and mattress to smell of him. 

Aziraphale clucked his tongue. “You’re abusing your powers quite a lot today.” 

“Worth it.” He doubted Hell was going to follow up, especially after his failed execution, but if they did plan to take punitive measures against him, he could always claim he was doing his job by seducing a holy being. 

Aziraphale’s lips twitched. “I dare say walking up the stairs would have required less energy.” 

“I have energy to spare.” And stamina, but he preferred to show Aziraphale rather than tell him. 

Aziraphale reached for his hand. “Well my dear, I would quite like to lie with you now.” His pupils had dilated, eyes blacker than the dark swoon of sin. 

Crowley was happy to oblige him. 

Aziraphale peeled back the sheets, a small cloud of dust and feathers rising. Clearly it wasn’t used very often, which was blasphemous, in Crowley’s humble opinion. The bed had a veritable mountain of pillows all fluffed to perfection and high thread count sheets. If Crowley’s bed was as luxurious as this, he’d be tempted to never leave it. The profusion of tiny feathers and dust made Aziraphale sneeze several times in quick succession. 

“Curse you.”

“You could just say ‘gesundheit.’”

Crowley shrugged. 

“I’m going to undress you now.” Aziraphale’s tongue poked out between his teeth in concentration. 

“You don’t have to announce everything you have to do. You can just do it, you know.” Crowley’s teeth clicked shut as Azairaphale’s warm hands settled on his shoulders. He dragged his palms down Crowley’s arms and back up again, before setting to work on disrobing him. 

Crowley inhaled deeply, trapping the scent of old books and cocoa powder in his lungs. Aziraphale removed his clothing with great ceremony, dragging out what could have been a swift process. When he got to his trousers, Aziraphale gave his backside a small squeeze. 

Crowley’s breath hitched. “Cheeky.” 

Aziraphale slid his pants off, revealing Crowley’s interested anatomy. He toed out of his socks, opting to ignore Aziraphale’s hungry look for the moment. 

“Alright. My turn.” He snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale’s clothes melted off his body to land in a pile at his feet. Crowley nearly choked on his spit at the sight of Aziraphale’s bare skin and the soft planes of his body. His gaze drifted down to the generously-sized, rosy cock standing proudly between his legs. 

Aziraphale shook his head disapprovingly at the abuse of his powers, but Crowley kissed him before he could voice his complaints. Aziraphale seemed to enjoy slow, languid kissing, and Crowley was certainly not against it, but he couldn’t help deepening the kiss. He pushed Aziraphale onto the bed before twining his fingers in Aziraphale’s pale blonde hair. It felt as if he was catching pure, solid sunlight in his hands. 

Their lips moved together and a part, before migrating to other parts of their bodies. Crowley kissed along Aziraphale’s jaw. Aziraphale suckled kisses along the taut cord of Crowley’s neck, and delighted in his ticklishness. 

He became completely ignorant of time as they familiarized themselves with their bodies. It could have been minutes that passed, or even years, and he’d be none the wiser. 

Aziraphale pleasured him with the same single mindedness as when he performed a miracle. He anointed his body with kisses, lingering in certain places, and dragging heat wherever his mouth ventured.

Crowley’s cock grew heavy and turgid until it positively ached. “Please, Angel. Please.” He was not at all above begging for what he wanted. He’d waited too long to play casual now. 

Aziraphale ignored him. “Oh, look at you,” he breathed, with the same drunken look on his face as when he finished the contents of his wine cellar, or completed a transportive and enthralling book. 

“Hurry up already; I’m not a blushing virgin.” 

“My dear, I’m afraid you are.” To illustrate his point, he rested his hand on one of Crowley’s warm, flushed cheeks. 

He hissed his annoyance, which only served to make Aziraphale smile even wider. “I meant it as a compliment. You look lovely.” 

“I do not!” 

He indulged him. “Fine. You look positively sinful.” 

“That’s more like it.” 

Aziraphale’s hand trailed through the spattering of hair leading to Crowley’s groin, before circling around his cock and gripping him. Crowley barely managed to hold back a sob. 

“I-if you have a preference,” Crowley began, “I could change it to--” 

“You’re perfect as you are. Though I wouldn’t mind experimenting in the future.” 

Crowley swallowed. He would like that very much. It hadn’t quite sunk in yet, but they had all the time in the world to memorize each other’s bodies. 

“I have a book we could consult as well,” Aziraphale added as he stroked Crowley. 

“A what?” 

“A book. You know, a block of pages supported by a spine and bound with vinyl or leather.” 

If Aziraphale hadn’t been pleasuring him with his hand just now, Crowley would have snapped at him. Instead, he ignored his snark. “What book?” he groaned, his hips driving up into the tight circle of Aziraphale’s fist. 

“A Thousand and One Sex Positions.” 

Bloody hell. Crowley was no innocent, but were there really that many? Humans really were inventive creatures. As daunting as a thousand and one positions sounded, he knew without a doubt he wanted to try them all. 

Aziraphale twisted his wrist, before swiping a thumb through the pre-seminal fluid collecting at the slit of Crowley’s cock. 

Crowley’s eyes scrunched shut, but they flew open a moment later when he felt Aziraphale’s mouth engulf the head of his cock. It was warm and wet, and he’d never felt anything as absurdly wonderful as the suction of his mouth before in his long life. 

Crowley could feel his flush reach the tip of his ears. He threw his head back and moaned while Aziraphale sucked him. 

He couldn’t help thrusting into his mouth, but Aziraphale seemed to have no difficulty swallowing around him. Unholy hell. Did all angels have no gag-reflex? Or was Aziraphale the amazing exception? 

A rolling tide of pleasure crested over him as he drove his cock into the tight heat. Aziraphale encouraged his thrusting, pressing his nose to his groin and humming happily around him. Crowley’s hips stuttered, pleasure wracking his frame. He unleashed a stream of profanities and cries of Aziraphale’s name. 

He had just enough awareness to warn Aziraphale, to try to push him off, but he stared up defiantly and swallowed around him once more. The heated, passionate look did Crowley in. He came in great pulses down Aziraphale’s throat, the angel eager to take his seed. 

When his vision came back in focus, Crowley’s flung his arms out across the bed and sucked in air like a drowning man. 

Aziraphale stared down at Crowley’s heaving, flushed body. “You really are a tempter.” 

“Nngh.” 

“I would very much like to be inside you now.” 

His cock twitched. Having Aziraphale inside him was a mutual desire. He arched a lazy brow. “Sure we won’t explode if you do? I seem to remember you saying you couldn’t inhabit my body for that very reason.” 

“This is entirely different,” Aziraphale protested. 

Crowley huffed a laugh, before pulling Aziraphale down for another slow snog. He was proud to say he had an excellent refractory period. Perks of being a powerful, immortal being. 

Aziraphale’s fingers were impossibly slick when they finally began to enter Crowley. He didn’t know if Aziraphale kept lubricant on hand, or if he’d broken his “no more frivolous miracles” rule. 

Several revelations occurred that night. The most significant being that, when his mouth wasn’t stuffed full of cock, Aziraphale was extremely talkative during sex. He babbled rubbish like, _“You are my soul’s desire”_ and _“amor meus aeternus.”_

It was nice hearing how Crowley was his eternal love, but he’d prefer if Aziraphale forgo the verbal confirmation and instead provide more physical proof of his affection. 

Aziraphale also had a tendency to state the obvious. _“You’re very tight”_ and _ “you take me so well_. 

If Crowley didn’t already know Aziraphale was an angel, he’d seriously suspect him of being a sex demon. Aziraphale knew exactly how to take Crowley apart, and to reduce him to a desperate, writhing mess. 

When Aziraphale finally thrust inside him, driving in deep, the pleasure Crowley felt was rapturous. This is what Heaven had felt like, before he Fell. Better, even. He felt on the verge of shattering into a thousand pieces. The pleasure was almost unbearable. 

Aziraphale felt the same, if his delectable noises were any indication. His hips pistoned and swiveled, stuffing him full. Aziraphale’s pace gradually staggered into something erratic and frantic. The press of his blunt cockhead against Crowley’s prostate made his vision swim. 

He wrung another orgasm out of Crowley before coming inside him and filling him with warmth. Aziraphale collapsed against him, and he let out a surprised “oomph.” 

“Sorry,” Aziraphale sighed. “I’ll move.” 

“No!” Crowley coughed. “Don’t. It’s alright. I like you like this.” He coiled his arms and legs around Aziraphale, drinking up his body-heat like the snake he was. 

“Oh. Well, alright.” Aziraphale nuzzled his face against Crowley’s neck. He could feel Aziraphale’s lips curve into a soft smile. 

Crowley was lax and pliant beneath him, but he fought off the drowsing edge of sleep. No dreams his mind could concoct could compete with reality. 

“An angel and a demon,” he murmured. “Who would’ve thought?” 

“You’re more than a demon, Crowley.” 

“Really? Just what am I, then?” 

Aziraphale lifted a hand to his face, dragging his thumb over his cheekbone. “I knew you were different ever since London, 1941. Do you remember? When you entered a church to save me?” 

“Yeah. I had blisters for weeks,” he groused. 

“I know. And that’s the marvel of it. Any other demon who set upon consecrated ground would have been destroyed.” 

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” 

“No, it’s not.” Aziraphale sat upright to gaze directly into his eyes. “I know because I enquired about it. No demon, save for you, has ever stood on consecrated ground and survived. And it’s because you are good.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re a bastard,” he shot back. 

Aziraphale positively beamed, as if there was no higher compliment one could earn. “I love you, Crowley.” 

“Likewise.” He grunted when Aziraphale shifted, and accidentally elbowed him in the ribs. “It’s just a shame we wasted so much time.” 

Aziraphale smiled softly. “True. But now we have all the time in the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
